


Bring the trauma tomorrow

by tothetardisandbeyond



Series: It's always something new [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Banter, F/M, Getting Together, Gryffindor courage, Harry Potter Thinks Draco Malfoy is Up to Something, Head Auror Harry Potter, Idiots in Love, M/M, Malfoy has long hair, Malfoy is well-dressed, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Slow Burn, Some angst, They took probably a decade, for them, kind of still does, like none at all, not actually angsty, used to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27834718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tothetardisandbeyond/pseuds/tothetardisandbeyond
Summary: Harry propositions Malfoy (with the help of some Firewhiskey), he forgets, and Malfoy won't tell him what he said. A comedy (disaster) in several parts.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: It's always something new [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2077638
Comments: 7
Kudos: 211





	1. Chapter 1

Harry is tired.

He wants one nice week where the junior Aurors stop blowing shit up and Ron minds his manners with Hermione and Kreacher-

There’s an audible thud behind him as Kreacher struggles to fix a Christmas wreath to one of the doors on the third floor. It’s only October, but Kreacher is remarkably fastidious about holidays.

He sighs. He just wants one moderately boring week.

oOo

Sometimes Harry forgets that as the Head Auror, there’s no such thing as a quiet week. But that’s different. He enjoys the work. Even though he’s more on the administrative side of things than before, he’s still involved in more of the legwork than people expect.

He’s keeping busy. Cleaning up Death Eaters even ten years later. The usual.

Some things never change.

It’s good.

oOo

He has to admit, he didn’t expect Ron and Hermione to be such an issue. Sure, they didn’t always get along, but Harry assumed that the constant stress of Voldemort and dying and the war and him probably exacerbated whatever actual tension they had. So he figured that once they had a couple years to get settled, everything would even out more or less.

He sometimes thinks this absolute lack of relationship awareness is probably why he and Ginny never made it.

Ron and Hermione were constantly sniping at each other to the point where he’d told them rather bluntly that if they couldn’t find some way to avoid the late-night screaming matches, they’d have to move out of Grimmauld Place.

They’d chosen to leave in the end. Privately, Harry was grateful. He was finally able to sleep through the night. Things had picked up at work, so other than a handful of Floo calls and postponed dinner invites, Harry hadn’t seen either of them for a few weeks.

And then they told him they’d broken up.

Harry sometimes wishes Voldemort was still trying to kill him. Life was easier back then, he laments.

oOo

There’s some screaming and swearing apparently, but thankfully far away from Harry.

All in all, the breakup is quite amicable.

Surprisingly, Ron and Hermione are on much better terms now that they’re friends.

Harry doesn’t want to know.

oOo

“I don’t know what you were expecting, Potter,” Malfoy says, throwing back the last of his Firewhiskey and signaling the waiter for another one. “Those two were always like oil and water, you said. So why the surprise that they finally ended things?”

Harry sullenly swirls the remains of his drink. There’d been a few too many to keep count as he relayed the latest events. “Look, Malfoy, I’ve told you before, I dunno. Everyone’s been saying they were meant for each other our whole lives. Even you-“

“Watch it, Scarhead,” Malfoy cuts in playfully. “It almost sounds like you listened to any of the drivel that came out of my mouth at Hogwarts.”

Harry glances up at him briefly. His bleary eyes land on immaculate robes, long blonde hair, and polished shoes. He’s suddenly feeling very thirsty and he steals Malfoy’s glass of water.

Malfoy gives him a reproving look, but doesn’t say anything.

Things were much simpler when Hermione belonged with Ron and Harry belonged with Ginny. Malfoy always said he’d gotten himself a fan and not a girlfriend. Ginny had outgrown him years ago. Still a good friend though.

“It wasn’t all drivel,” he says offhand, still thinking about Malfoy’s unwitting relationship advice.

“Really?” Malfoy asks. “I was a prat. You’ve said so yourself.”

“Doesn’t mean I was right,” Harry says dazedly. He’s not quite sure how much he had to drink.

Malfoy sips quietly at his second Firewhiskey. “At least I was just a prat. I could grow out of that. You’re just delusional.”

“Seems like you’re still a prat though,” he manages to say through the slowly spinning room. “Well- well, it’s your loss, Malfoy. I had big plans for you to fuck me tonight.”

He doesn’t realize the words are out of his mouth before he hears the clatter of a glass and a quiet swear as Malfoy starts mopping up the spilled drink.

He’s starting to think he might be more drunk than he thought.

“What gave it away?” Malfoy asks dryly, because of course, Harry said that out loud.

But Harry’s a Gryffindor for a reason, so he stands his ground.

“I said what I said.”

oOo

An hour later, because Malfoy insisted on staying long enough to get their money’s worth, they’ve arrived back at Harry’s.

“Come along, Potter,” he hears Malfoy say. “No, _no,_ you can’t sleep on your doorstep. Up you get.”

Harry’s hands are moving on their own, maneuvering Malfoy up against the now closed door. He’s attempting to separate the robes from the Potions Master. There’s a moment of hesitation when the other man kisses back in surprise, but soon after two pale hands gently pull his own away.

“Malfoy?” he hears a faint voice say. And Merlin, is that his voice?

“Not that I’m not into it, but you’re very drunk,” Malfoy tells him, not unkindly, after he’s plied Harry with water and practically tucked him into bed. “I’ve left a Hangover potion for tomorrow morning. I’ll see you around, Potter.”

Harry has this sudden moment of alcohol-induced clarity where he realizes that he might have just fucked everything up with one of the few people he genuinely likes talking to.

He then promptly passes out.

oOo

He wakes up with a splitting headache and the feeling of cotton in his mouth.

His hands fumble around for his glasses, and he shoves them on. In the dim light of his bedroom, he sees a note addressed to Scarhead in the same precise handwriting he’s seen in some form or another for most of his life.

He downs the accompanying vial helpfully labeled “Hangover cures for prats” and scans the note.

Harry chokes.

oOo

“Was it really necessary to Floo this early in the morning?” Malfoy asks the moment Harry sticks his head in the fire.

“You left me a note!” Harry replies indignantly. “You specifically said you won’t hold me to anything I said or did ‘post-libations’ and that ‘you hoped I’d have a wonderful week!’”

“That sounds perfectly polite,” Malfoy drawls as he ties his black silk robe tighter. “So I fail to see what your actual objection is.”

Harry sees the sliver of pale, exposed chest and the briefest glimpse of a thick, raised scar. He gulps.

“Malfoy, what the hell happened? What did I say to you?” he asks partly to distract himself and partly because he’s been friends with this man long enough to know that they’ll just keep beating around the bush otherwise.

“Nothing,” Malfoy says, but the corner of his mouth is curling upwards.

“Nothing,” Harry repeats in disbelief. “Nothing, my arse.”

Malfoy just shrugs elegantly and waves a hand to change into a finely-pressed three-piece Muggle suit.

Harry really wishes the effortless display of wandless magic was less attractive.

“Think whatever you want, Potter. No matter what I say, I can tell you’re already convinced that I had some hidden meaning.”

“Malfoy, you always have hidden meanings. Your hidden meanings have hidden meanings.”

“That’s fair,” Malfoy replies thoughtfully. “I have to go, Potter. I can’t keep bantering with you all day.”

“Wait, Malfoy-“ Harry tries as Malfoy summarily ends the Floo call.

“-you didn’t answer my question,” he finishes.

Harry runs a hand through his hair, making it even more messy than usual.

“That prat,” he says fondly before changing and heading to work.

oOo

Despite his best efforts, Harry can’t seem to find Malfoy. He’s tried stopping by his office in the Ministry, Hogwarts, and the apothecary he frequents in Knockturn Alley.

Malfoy’s a slippery bloke.

Luckily, Harry’s spent seven years stalking him.

He eventually finds the man leaving the Leaky, but Malfoy fucking _nods_ at him like they’re simple acquaintances and sashays away before he can catch up.

oOo

It’s a bit lonely without Malfoy around.

Harry’s not sure when exactly Malfoy slithered into his life and took up shop, but he’s become rather partial to the Potions Master’s tendency to show up right when Harry wants him around.

When he’s looking for an excuse to get takeout, Malfoy’s already dusting himself off from the Floo, loudly proclaiming that they’re ordering Thai food. When Harry has to dress up for formal occasions, Malfoy’s there, quietly clicking his tongue until he finds the proper robes. When Harry’s leaving work, Malfoy’s already draped himself in a plush armchair in Grimmauld Place with Kreacher bringing him tea and biscuits.

Now that he thinks about it, Malfoy’s always been around in some shape or form since he was eleven.

The only difference is now they’re actually friends.

oOo

This continues for a few more days before Harry’s fed up.

He finds a quill and writes a few short lines in frustration.

_Malfoy,_

_~~Would you~~ ~~please~~ ~~Can we~~ ~~stop acting like first years~~ ~~Quit avoiding~~ ~~talk to me you arse~~_

_Can we talk?_

_Harry_

Harry thinks he's doing fantastic.

He’s annoyed enough that he mistakenly signs his name as Harry and has to snatch the parchment back from the owl.

He debates for a few moments before finally leaving it the way it is.

oOo

He’s complaining about it to Ron the next day over lunch. They’re pointedly staying far away from the Hermione topic, so Harry’s decided to regale him with the latest in the Malfoy saga.

But Ron puts his sandwich down and just stares at him in faint disgust and amusement.

“Mate, I really don’t get why it had to be Malfoy. But if you don’t find him soon, I’ll look for him myself just so I can stop hearing you pine after him for ten more years.”

Harry wants to say that he’s not pining, but Ron raises his eyebrows like he’s daring him to disagree. So Harry keeps his mouth shut.

Eventually, Ron smiles. “That’s what I thought. Just talk to him. I’ve wagered twenty galleons against Seamus that he likes you back. I’m pretty sure I’m right, but if I’m not, absolute worst case, he’ll just hate you forever.”

Harry groans and covers his face. His friends are terrible.

Ron pats his shoulder comfortingly and goes back to his sandwich.

oOo

Hermione, on the other hand, is sympathetic.

She’s too busy to join him for lunch this week, but Hermione’s made time to listen to him anyway. Harry makes a silent promise to drag her to a bookstore in the near future and let her pick out as many books as she wants.

She even puts down the ten different memos she’s organizing for her report. There’s a quill tucked behind her ear and ink stains on her fingers. Her hair is frizzier than usual, but it’s oddly comforting. It must remind Harry of simpler times.

“Oh, Harry, I’m sure it’ll work out. You’re already practically dating. Just give him some time. Who knows what you said? It might’ve just thrown him off a bit.”

“Thanks, Hermione,” he says with a half-smile, but he gives her a kiss on the cheek when he leaves.

oOo

He’s gnashing his teeth when he receives the following short reply.

_Potter,_

_Unfortunately, I’ll be out of the country this week. Tea when I get back?_

_Malfoy_

He almost wants to retract the friend thing now. Maybe they're still enemies, he thinks wildly. But Malfoy's legitimately very busy, and the note's innocuous enough. So Harry bites his tongue and replies with some nonsense about how that’s totally fine and to have a safe trip.

oOo

Harry doesn’t see Malfoy again until the following week. He finally sucks it up on Thursday and Floos straight into Malfoy’s apartment. They’ve been friends for this long, so his school nemesis can deal with a little Gryffindor courage.

Malfoy pauses before taking a sip of tea and stares at Harry like he’s a particularly interesting potions specimen over the rim of his teacup.

“Breaking and entering, Potter?”

“You’ve been avoiding me, Malfoy. So I had to come by and help myself to some tea instead. Just tell me what happened,” Harry says tiredly, plopping down in a chair across from the other man.

Malfoy studies him for a moment. “Why do you want to know so badly?”

“Because you’re hiding it!” Harry stops pouring and replies indignantly. “What if I said or did something offensive? I can’t even remember, so how can I apologize?”

“I definitely wasn’t offended,” Malfoy mutters under his breath.

“What was that?” Harry asks.

Harry can practically see Malfoy’s internal debate.

“You said you wanted me to fuck you,” Malfoy eventually says, careful not to make eye contact.

Harry’s silent for a moment.

Malfoy rushes to speak. “I would never-“

“That’s it?” Harry interrupts. “Nothing else?”

“No,” Malfoy replies, biting his lip. “That’s it. And I took you home.”

“Okay then,” Harry says, and he stands up to leave.

“That’s all you have to say?” Malfoy asks, sounding faintly offended now as he half-rises from his seat.

“I mean, I would never want to force how I feel on you, so yeah, that’s it,” Harry says, sounding remarkably calm to his own ears.

“What do you mean ‘how you feel?’” Malfoy says, feigning air quotes.

“Malfoy, I literally told you what I want. Honestly, I know you’re not this dense.”

“Oh, _I’m_ the dense one?” Malfoy responds, eyebrows shooting up.

“About this?” Harry says, leaning against the table. “Yeah, I’d say so. I’ve been half in love with you since third year. Everyone knows that.”

“Except someone conveniently forgot to tell me it went beyond a crush at Hogwarts!” Malfoy says shrilly.

“I conveniently arranged for us to work on the same case at the Ministry, and then _conveniently_ invited you for drinks even though we hadn’t spoken in years and you were convinced I hated you. I’ve consistently gotten you birthday and holiday presents that are far too elaborate for simple coworkers. I hang out with you more than Ron and Hermione for crying out loud. I regularly have tea with Blaise, Pansy, and Theo now, thanks to you. And I get distracted by your voice or your hair or your hands or your arse on a daily basis,” Harry replies in exasperation. “But _clearly_ , I don’t like you at all. What more did you bloody need? A sign?”

“Yes!” Malfoy says, gesturing wildly. “A bloody sign that says ‘Hello, you human dumpster fire, the man you’ve been madly in love with since first year is also in love with you and you may have permission to jump his bones!’”

Harry blinks before smirking. He sidles a bit closer.

“You can take out the ‘may,’ Malfoy. You definitely have permission to jump my-“

Malfoy hisses in frustration and steps towards him.

oOo

There’s cool blonde hair brushing against his cheek, the silky slide of Malfoy’s robes as he pulls them out of the way, and the feel of hard muscles against his palms.

He’s busy kissing down Malfoy’s collarbone, but he pauses briefly before moving lower.

“You know, you’ve actually loved me longer than I have you,” Harry says as he idly traces one of the long scars he left on Malfoy’s chest. “Why didn’t these change your mind?”

Malfoy’s robes are half off, and he’s panting against the sheets. Blonde hair spills out of a hasty braid. He bites his lip, and Harry can’t help but lean in to kiss him again.

“You really think this is the best time to ask that?” Malfoy asks, pulling away briefly.

“I dunno,” Harry responds as he continues to map out the gnarled tissue.

“Then shut up, Scarhead,” Malfoy says affectionately, pulling Harry’s hands away. “I didn’t even know I liked you back then. And I’ve also done my fair share of fucked up things. We can’t possibly be keeping score.”

Harry stares at him for a beat longer.

“Fair enough,” he replies eventually. “Just promise me we’ll talk about this at some point?”

“Yes, yes, Potter,” Malfoy says impatiently. “It’s all very important, and I appreciate your concern. I’ll move into your place and bring all my trauma with me tomorrow. Now will you please get these bloody clothes off? I have ten years to make up for.”

Harry laughs and lets Malfoy roll them over.

oOo

Kingsley Shacklebolt ignores the Patronus speaking in Draco Malfoy’s voice. He has no interest in why his two best personnel both need a sick day on Friday. If he were remotely interested, which he isn’t, he would say, “about bloody time.”


	2. Chapter 2

The day is muggy and warm. Mosquitos lazily flit about near the still, murky water.

There’s a splash followed by a thud.

“Honestly, Potter,” he sneers. “I agreed to join you on this case, because I thought you were an Auror. If I knew you had all the grace of a five-year-old, I would’ve left you in your office.”

Potter’s finally managed to find his feet, slicking his muddy hair back and idly wiping the muck off his glasses. He makes no attempt to salvage his clothes.

Draco mutters a few choice curses under his breath. No one has the right to look that good covered in mud. It’s not supposed to hug all those muscles long since defined by years and years of Quidditch.

He turns up his nose as Potter good-naturedly shrugs. “I’ll make do until we can make camp. Don’t worry your pretty little head over it, Malfoy. I won’t slow you down too much.”

Draco doesn’t really know what to say to that, so he huffs and carefully makes his way forward into the gloomy jungle.

“Just try to keep up, Potter. If I have to rescue you because a Venus flytrap ate you, then what’s the use of assigning you as my protection detail?” he says snidely.

“First off,” Potter says as he carefully steps over a creeping root and bats aside a cluster of palm fronds. “I’m not your protection detail. We’re on this case to figure out what this smuggling ring is up to and to stop them if we can, and you just so happen to be the expert on the potions they use and have extensive experience in the particular blood curses they’re so fond of using. So if anything, you’re _my_ protection detail.”

Draco opens his mouth to argue, but Potter beats him to it.

“And secondly, I don’t have to catch up, because they’re right up through there,” he continues, his voice dropping down into a whisper.

oOo

The capturing and arresting actually goes remarkably smoothly, Draco admits reluctantly to himself.

Potter is actually quite good at his job. And Draco has spent nearly half his life analyzing the Auror’s movements, so it’s not exactly hard to follow his silent commands.

All in all, the smuggling ring is magically bound and tossed into holding cells in the Ministry before Draco can blink.

He’s not sure how he feels about it. He’s supposed to hate Potter after all.

oOo 

He doesn’t see Potter for the better part of a month after that though, so he supposes it doesn’t matter. It’s probably better that he doesn’t see the bloke. He was starting to develop a sense of grudging respect for his erstwhile nemesis, and that’s just simply not acceptable.

But over the next several weeks, Potter is relegated to the deepest recesses of his mind as per usual.

oOo

“What’re _you_ doing here?” Draco asks, not bothering to hide his disgust.

“Draco,” his mother says reprovingly. “Mr. Potter says he’s here on personal business and has requested to speak with you.”

Draco can’t imagine what kind of personal business would involve accosting him at Malfoy manor, but he’s sure he wants no part in it. But his mother is giving him the look of calm collectedness she uses when she means business, so he pastes on a passable fake smile.

“Of course, Potter. Please follow me,” he says, leading the way to a sitting room.

“Thank you,” Potter says politely. “Your home looks lovely, Mrs. Malfoy.”

Draco isn’t sure what exactly looks lovely to him. Was it the new chandelier to replace the one they destroyed? Or the renovations to hide the spot in which his insane aunt tortured Granger? Or perhaps, it was the new tapestries covering the many Malfoy portraits commissioned over the years.

He braces himself for a smart comment from Potter as he leads them down the hall, but it never comes.

He’s not blind. He knows how people looked at him before Potter spoke at the trial. But public impressions are different from private ones. Potter would have every right to criticize behind closed doors. There’s no rule saying you have to like a man to spare him from Azkaban. But the other man merely looks at the renovations and makes a bland comment about how the new windows have a lovely view.

It’s harmless small talk. Meaningless drivel. But against his better judgment, it soothes his nerves slightly.

There’s still a sour taste in Draco’s mouth as he gestures at a sofa.

Just because he’s grateful Potter isn’t a complete arse, doesn’t mean he’s lost his mind and started liking Potter of all people.

Potter accepts the seat and thankfully doesn’t waste his time.

He fiddles with something in his pocket for a moment before pulling it out.

Draco stares at him in the silence that follows.

Eventually, he raises an eyebrow inquiringly. “Cat got your tongue?”

Even he can hear there’s no actual bite to his words.

“Listen,” Potter begins. “I’m sorry it took this long to get this back to you. It’s going to sound kind of ridiculous, but this is one of the few things I had after the Battle that didn’t end up broken or useless, so I kind of held onto it longer than I meant to, because it was one of the few things that didn’t leave.”

Potter runs a hand through the bird’s nest he attempts to pass off as hair, and Draco is momentarily distracted by his innate need to insult everything about the man.

“But it’s still your wand, so…here,” Potter says, holding the wand out in Draco’s direction.

Draco looks at it for a moment before slowly accepting it. There’s that same warm sense of anticipation he felt in Ollivander’s all those years ago.

“I never thought I’d see it again,” he says quietly, totally absorbed in the hawthorn wand.

But the moment ends, and he’s left with Potter in front of him looking almost taken aback.

Draco clears his throat. “….thank you, Potter. That was rather decent of you, all things considered.”

He knows it’s not the best expression of gratitude he’s ever given, but it’s all he’s got right now.

Potter, the simpleton, doesn’t seem to mind.

“Of course,” he says with an infuriatingly calm smile. “That’s all then. Thank you for seeing me, Malfoy. I’ll head out now. Please thank your mother for her hospitality.”

Draco just nods, but eventually, remembers his manners and escorts Potter back to the front of the manor when something occurs to him.

“Just a moment, Potter.”

“Hmm?” the Auror says with one foot outside the massive front door.

“How did you know I was here? I haven’t visited my parents at the manor in years. They usually come to me.”

“Ah,” Potter says eloquently, rubbing the back of his head in apparent chagrin. “I heard you telling Kingsley the other day at the end of the meeting, and I’d been carrying around your wand for so long trying to find an opportune moment to return it. It finally got to the point where I had to either suck it up and be creepy or not return it ever. Apologies, Malfoy. It wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable.”

Draco’s positive that even a few hours ago, he would’ve immediately Flooed to Pansy’s to rant about inconsiderate and malevolent stalkerish Potters poking their noses into perfectly innocent people’s business. Now though, he’s in a good mood, and he just huffs a laugh.

“I appreciate that you returned the wand however you found your way here. Have a pleasant day, Potter.”

The other man gives a crooked grin and walks off, calling out behind him. “I’ll see you around, Malfoy.”

Draco shuts the door and cradles the wand with some delicacy.

Potter’s perhaps not all bad.

oOo

There’s a few more cases together over the years where Potter continues to earn Draco’s respect. He’s kind with victims, cooperative with all manner of staff and consultants, and consistently values other people’s opinions.

Draco’s not sold though. Scarhead’s been overhyped his entire life. Surely, deserving some admiration professionally doesn’t mean that he’s any better than the prat he was in Hogwarts.

oOo

“You can still speak Parseltongue?” he spits out in disbelief.

Potter pulls away from the previously stolen and recently recovered python, looking extremely guilty. The last sibilant hiss of whatever words he was muttering die out completely. His hand’s already coming up to run through that annoying mop on his head.

“Er-“

That’s the last straw for him.

“Don’t you ‘er’ me, Potter!” Draco says indignantly.

How dare he go and be _interesting_.

Completely ridiculous.

He can’t just get away with that, Draco thinks darkly.

The snake curls closer to Potter’s hand, and the Auror hisses reassuringly.

Draco stares at Potter for a moment too long.

He clearly just thinks it’s neat.

oOo

“So…drinks then?”

“Where?”

“The Leaky maybe?” Potter suggests somewhat hesitantly.

Draco sniffs.

“I’ll think about it.”

oOo

“Malfoy,” Potter says, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a smile.

Draco’s heart does an impressive flip.

He swallows the feeling and slides into the booth across from the other man. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees that Irish Gryffindor and Weaselette’s other ex-lover hovering excitedly in the background behind the bar. He chooses to ignore them, given that Pansy and Theo are hidden away in a booth farther along with far less reason to be here than the owners possess.

“Potter,” he says instead of saying something inane about how he’s never noticed how green Potter’s eyes are.

At the sound of his name, the idiot’s smile widens into a rather devastating grin.

Draco suddenly does not feel prepared for this.

oOo

The conversation is stilted at first.

They are enemies after all.

But Potter asks him questions about a new case and actually seems interested when Draco discusses some of the finer points of potion making.

It starts to become something of a regular occurrence.

Potter will invite him for drinks under the pretext of a case.

It goes fairly well for a few months, before Draco finally has enough.

“Potter, what are we doing?” he asks after one evening where idle musings about a case have devolved into Potter’s rendition of some absurd story about the Weasel twins and throwing snowballs at the Dark Lord.

Potter sobers quickly.

“It seems like we’re having a nice time,” he says cautiously.

Draco smirks. “I know I’m delightful, Potter. It’s about time you finally agreed.”

Potter just laughs.

oOo

Draco knows he’s a lot.

And he doesn’t expect this fragile friendship with Potter to last. After all, the only relationships he’s managed to maintain over the years have been with the Slytherins who’ve known him for so long they don’t have a choice in liking him.

So he admits he might be going a bit over the top in a moderately (very) self-destructive effort to scare the Chosen One off.

He starts showing up at Potter’s office and dragging him out to lunch.

They start watching the telly at Potter’s suggestion, because Draco admits he’s never understood the fascination. Potter doesn’t understand how invested Draco becomes, but the Auror adds him to the wards and the Floo, because he finally becomes tired of Draco sending him multiple owls asking about when they would watch the most recent episode of the “soaps.” Draco doesn’t understand the designation, but he begins to invite himself over quite often anyway for what he deems “high quality rubbish.”

He tells himself it’s for the telly and for the surprisingly decent hot chocolate Potter plies him with.

(It’s clearly not, because Potter’s eyes light up just a bit when someone else is in his home. It’s also definitely not because Potter sometimes puts on music while cooking, dancing along just because. It’s got nothing to do with those.)

oOo

Slowly, but surely, Draco’s spending more and more time with Potter.

He tries to convince himself it’s only because Potter is one of the few people in his entire life who’s never wanted or expected anything from him.

Right.

He’s even voluntarily spending some time around Weasel and Granger. They’ll never be close, but they all get along well enough for Potter’s sake.

He doesn’t quite realize until he’s knee deep in Potter’s measly attempt at a wardrobe, tossing robes aside until he despairs of finding him anything suitable to wear to the Ministry’s ball.

Potter had Flooed him in a panic, the night before, sounding increasingly frantic and incoherent.

Draco finally realizes that he might like Potter a little bit after he’s dragged the man to various tailors and bullied him into cooking him breakfast for dinner.

Sitting there in a previously neat green sweater and black jeans with his pancakes laden with heavy maple syrup that Kreacher had dug out of some unspeakable place, Draco feels like he’s been smacked in the face.

There’s batter on Potter’s face and some stray flour dusting his hair, remnants of losing his fight with Kreacher over the whisk.

Draco should be disgusted at the smattering of maple syrup that dribbles from the dangling fork to the front of Potter’s hideous Christmas sweater. Potter’s not even looking at him. He’s got his tongue between his teeth as he cautiously plates a hefty stack of well-earned pancakes for Kreacher.

It’s a bit charming.

Draco wants to smack himself surreptitiously to wake himself from whatever hell dimension this is. Falling for Potter was never part of the fucking plan.

He’s supposed to be the arch nemesis, he wants to wail. He only had one bloody job.

He’s so fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not what I was thinking of writing for a Ch. 2, but Draco's pov makes me laugh. Hope you continue to enjoy this fic!


	3. Chapter 3

“Har-ry,” he says slowly as if he were speaking to Teddy.

“Potter,” Draco responds.

Harry throws up his hands. “We’ve known each other for most of our lives and now, we’re supposedly together, but you can’t even call me by my first name? It’s the same number of syllables, Mal- fuck, I mean, Draco.”

Draco gives him a smug look as he leans against the kitchen table. “Exactly, and you’ve called me Malfoy for all of it. Why change now?”

Harry just looks at him.

“You know what?” he shrugs. “Fine, Malfoy, it is. Someday, if we get married-“

“Potter, I know your track record with relationships is…poor to say the least, but surely, even you know that all this talk about marriage is a bit premature right now,” Malfoy says languidly.

Harry laughs. “You’ve been sharing my bed. I know you’ve loved me longer than you haven’t. I know you’ve seen quite honestly the worst of me and probably very little of the best. And I have it on good authority that we’ve been dating for a while now even if we didn’t know it.”

“Whose authority?” Malfoy asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Hermione’s,” Harry replies, daring Malfoy to contradict him.

“That’s fair then,” Malfoy says with no hesitation. “I trust Granger’s judgment.”

“You trust her, but you don’t trust me?” Harry responds, crossing his arms in mock offense.

“Well, you-“

Harry leaves the stew Kreacher’s been simmering on the stove and walks the few steps to Malfoy.

“Shut it, Malfoy,” he says with a half-smile, puts a hand on the other man’s cheek and kisses him.

Malfoy pulls away a little while later. “Potter, not that I don’t enjoy kissing you, but Kreacher did spend a long time preparing this, and I would hate to ruin- what? Do I have something on my face?”

He’s not prepared for the wave of affection he feels when Malfoy remembers the house-elf’s hard work.

He shakes his head, unable to fight the smile breaking across his face and goes back to waving his wand over the stew.

If he casts a brief Stasis charm first, snogs Malfoy for awhile, and then returns to minding the stew, no one has to know.

oOo

“Don’t tell Malfoy just yet,” the Minister says, tapping a quill against an ink well before he continues writing. “There’s no guarantee the info is accurate-“

Harry nods solemnly. “-and there’s no point getting his hopes up if we’re wrong.”

“Of course,” Kingsley replies. “But between us-“

“-the info’s good,” Harry finishes.

Kingsley nods. “Very well then.”

oOo

Harry’s not sure what possesses him to get a portrait of Professor Snape commissioned. Well, he does have a reason, of course, but he feels like he’s signing himself up for a lifetime of snarky commentary and needling wit. The things he does for love.

The professor is understandably not pleased and spends most of his time in his other portrait in the Headmaster’s office.

Still, he knows Malfoy misses his Head of House even if he refuses to speak about it, so he dusts it off from the attic and puts it closer to the habitable part of the old Black family home.

His old Potions professor sneers. “Potter, surely I had enough of this place when I was alive. Must you condemn even a shadow of my former self to haunt these halls as well?”

“Evening, Professor,” Harry says evenly. “You’re still alive somewhere, aren’t you?”

Professor Snape presses his lips together in a thin line, looking as faintly perturbed as an oil painting can.

“Potter, I know you are…deficient in many ways, but surely, your memory has not failed you quite yet? Did you, or did you not, watch me die?” he says eventually.

“Just a hunch,” Harry says cheerily, willfully ignoring the question. “Maybe more than a hunch. I just needed you to confirm. Because I want you back.”

“Whatever for?” the former professor replies scornfully. “Have I not made it clear I detest you, Potter?”

“Oh, I don’t like you either,” Harry chuckles. “But Malfoy does. And it is the holiday season after all.”

“You mean to present me to him as a Christmas present?”

Harry snickers. “No need to sound so appalled, Professor.”

He whistles offkey as he leaves the grumbling portrait.

oOo

“Happy Christmas,” he says, pulling the Cloak off of the scowling former Headmaster.

Malfoy looks from him to his godfather and back.

“Potter, are you dabbling in necromancy now?”

Harry huffs. “I’ll leave you two to catch up.”

oOo

Later, after the professor has long since fled, Malfoy corners him. “I don’t know how or where you found him, and quite frankly, Potter, I don’t care.”

Harry looks away from the reports he’s filling out, twirling his quill between his fingers.

Malfoy is staring at him.

“Saint bloody Potter,” he says finally, pushing Harry’s reports over enough to bend him over the desk.

oOo

Hours and a location change later, Harry’s dozing off when he hears Malfoy mutter a quiet, but heartfelt, “Thank you.”

This is, of course, after they painstakingly and thoroughly clean the desk. They’ve both agreed that even the thought of hearing Kreacher mutter about “the masters defiling the desk” and “poor Kreacher must clean it” would haunt them to the end of their days.

oOo

“No more fucking on that desk,” Harry grumbles. “My bruises have bruises. And somehow Pansy knows.”

Malfoy looks faintly horrified. “What do you mean she knows?”

“I mean, I walked in for tea, she took one look at me and smirked.”

Malfoy visibly relaxes. “That’s it, Potter? She smirked?”

“You’ve grown up with it!” Harry says indignantly. “But she’s waggling her eyebrows at me, Malfoy. It’s disturbing! And more importantly, your fault. So fix it!”

“She’s your friend, too!” Malfoy retorts, but he sighs and procures a bottle of Dittany without too much fuss.

oOo

Harry doesn’t know when he becomes friends with Parkinson.

It apparently happens somewhere after becoming friends with Malfoy and sometime after running into her at Malfoy’s office in the Ministry.

He’d been polite enough. Malfoy had been bogged down with work for the last few days and hadn’t been lurking around Grimmauld Place as often. So Harry had taken it upon himself to visit in the Ministry. Mostly because he doesn’t get too many visitors right now. Ron and Hermione are also busy with their work. So it’s mostly him puttering around, bothering Kreacher.

Regardless, nowhere in there did they become good enough friends for Parkinson to show up at his home unannounced.

So he’s not sure what Parkinson is doing here.

“There are wards on the house, Parkinson,” Harry says in confusion when she steps through the Floo.

“Very good, Potter,” Parkinson replies, clearly not paying any attention. “And enough with the Parkinson. Pansy is fine. There’s no need for you to stand on ceremony. After all, I did try to turn you over to the Dark Lord.”

She ignores his silence. “Sorry about that, by the way,” she says, sounding an equal mix sincere and impassive. It’s quite impressive.

Harry chooses not to comment on that.

“Pansy then. How are you here?” he asks. “Actually, hang on, _why_ are you here?”

She looks up at him as she throws her designer heels off. “We’re having tea,” she says, sounding like Harry’s asking the wrong questions.

The sound of the Floo interrupts Harry before he can ask more.

Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott step through.

“I’m sorry…what?” Harry asks faintly.

"Where's Goyle?" he adds inanely.

Pansy stares at him like he's something disgusting on the bottom of her shoe.

“Potter, meet…well, we’ve all gone to Hogwarts. I’m sure you know each other,” Pansy gives up mid-way through introductions. "Greg's in Romania actually. Very into dragons."

Harry just stares at the Slytherins.

“You didn’t bother to tell him we were coming, did you?” Nott asks, carefully smoothing down his hair.

“No, she did not,” Harry fills in awkwardly, when Pansy just hums and looks elsewhere in apparent boredom.

Zabini sighs and steps forward, dusting off a well-tailored suit. “Potter, sorry for the intrusion. Someone was supposed to inform you we were coming. You’ve been getting to know Draco, and we just wanted to meet the latest addition to Draco’s friend circle. It really is a pleasure. I don’t believe we’ve ever formally met. Call me Blaise if you would. And this is Theo.”

Theo nods at him.

Harry bites back the flurry of questions and shakes the proffered hands, managing a weak, “Charmed.”

oOo

“What do you mean you haven’t?” Pansy says scornfully. “What kind of lie is that, Potter? We said two truths and a lie. Not three increasingly unbelievable lies.”

“Who knows, Pansy, maybe he’s lying about something else,” Blaise says. “Maybe it was the Threstral.”

“Well, Potter?” Pansy prompts a second later. “What is it?”

“I actually fought a basilisk in second year, not third,” Harry laughs. “And I absolutely have ridden a Threstral-”

“Who cares about that?” Pansy interrupts. “Are you trying to say you’ve never been with a man before?”

“I just haven’t, alright?” Harry says, starting to feel defensive. “It’s not like I’m less-“

“No, no,” she says, waving a hand. “This has nothing to do with your orientation. I’m saying you’ve never slept with Draco? Ever? Not even once?”

“When the bloody hell did you want me to sleep with him?” Harry asks in amazement. “We’ve been enemies for most of our-“

“How are you both this blind?” she laments and drains her cup.

“What?” Potter asks.

“I’m tired of this conversation,” she says dramatically.

“Be nice, Pansy,” Zab- Blaise admonishes. “Leave the bloke alone. We’re here to get to know Draco’s friend. Not interrogate him.”

“This is why you’re my favorite,” Harry says after swallowing a mouthful of pastry.

Pansy just looks at him.

“You’ve only known him for two hours, Potter.”

“I said what I said,” Harry responds, primly sipping at his tea.

Theo, who’d previously remained silent, simply staring at Harry rather unnervingly, laughs.

“I think I like you, Potter.”

“Thanks, I think,” Harry says, resolving to stop thinking so hard.

oOo

The Slytherins leave eventually, and Harry tries not to dwell on what Pansy said.

He fails.

oOo

Pansy somehow becomes a fixture in his life. She’s not always in the country, but she keeps a steady stream of owls to Harry.

Blaise and Theo occasionally owl as well.

It’s all rather unexpected, but surprisingly nice.

He’s spent several lovely evenings with them before Malfoy is finally able to join them.

oOo

Malfoy looks stunned that Pansy’s feet are in Harry’s lap.

Harry doesn’t acknowledge the look, instead turning to compliment Blaise on his new diamond cufflinks. There’s only the usual polite smile that crosses the other man’s face, but Harry’s spent enough time around the man to know he’s pleased.

Theo eventually leans around Malfoy to ask if Potter’s had a chance to contact Hermione about her research.

Harry cheerfully tells him that he passed on the greetings, and Hermione had been baffled, but pleased. She’d indicated that Theo could owl her whenever was convenient.

oOo

When they eventually leave, Malfoy hovers in the doorway for a moment.

“You want to know how long I’ve been friends with them, right?” Harry says, putting him out of his misery.

“Yes,” Malfoy sniffs. “I was under the impression they were _my_ friends, Potter.”

“Oi, they invited themselves over, Malfoy. And they’re tolerable,” he replies.

Malfoy gives him a dubious look.

Harry crosses his arms. “I’m telling you. They showed up and said they wanted to get to know your new friend better. So we’ve met up a couple times.”

He’s not sure, but he thinks he sees Malfoy smile slightly.

“As you say.”

Harry doesn’t get it, but he nods decisively anyway.

Malfoy chuckles and leaves.

oOo

“Potter,” Pansy says, snapping her fingers to get his attention. “Are you even listening to me?”

“No,” he says glibly.

Pansy smirks. “You know, when we first had tea, you seemed so boring. But now, now you’re just a little bit feisty, Potter.”

Harry looks at her and abruptly decides to wipe the smug look off her face. “Malfoy and I are together, Pansy.”

He enjoys the stunned expression on her face, but it slowly devolves into glee.

“Tell me _everything_.”

Harry suddenly gets the feeling he did not think this through.

oOo

After hours upon hours of tireless grilling, she finally leaves.

Malfoy crawls out from whatever hidey hole he managed to find before Pansy arrived.

“I told you she’d want all the details if you told her.”

Harry slides down in his chair.

“Shut up, Malfoy. You just scuttled off somewhere and watched. If I didn’t tell her, she’d find out from someone else, and then we’d truly never hear the end of it.”

Malfoy shrugs. “That may be true, but you do realize, now Blaise and Theo and by extension, our entire group of friends will know.”

It’s Harry’s turn to shrug. “Bold of you to assume they didn’t think we were already together.”

Malfoy groans. “Stop reminding me, Scarhead. It just makes me feel like a moron for taking this long.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just really enjoying writing stuff for these two. I haven't even hit half the scenes I meant to. Hopefully, I'll get there soon. Hope you enjoy!


	4. Chapter 4

“-you can take your bloody opinions on my love life and back the hell up,” Draco hears.

He doesn’t know whether he should back out of the room quietly, but regardless, he’s too slow.

Potter pulls his head out of the fire and runs a careless hand through his hair in frustration.

“I don’t know why I- Malfoy,” Potter says upon looking up. “…how much did you hear?”

Draco sighs. “Nothing really. But also enough.”

Potter winces and steps closer.

“It’s fine, Potter-“ he starts to say, but Potter isn’t having it today.

“It’s really not,” he says, and for the first time in awhile, he looks truly angry. Draco doesn’t quite know how to feel. He’s used to the anger, but he’s not used to it being directed at someone else other than him, and especially not on his behalf.

“The _Daily Prophet_ doesn’t get a say in who I spend my time with,” Potter seethes, looking like he’s barely refraining from grinding his teeth.

“Sounds like they kind of do,” Draco tries to say jokingly, but it falls flat.

There’s a moment when Potter looks at him like he’s seeing him for the first time.

He quickly turns around on his heel and marches back to the Floo.

He’s clearly called the same person back, because he walks through without so much as a by-your-leave.

Draco blinks at the strangest sight.

Potter’s returned, dragging someone else back through, just enough so their curly hair pokes out among the flames.

Draco’s mouth quirks with suppressed laughter. Evidently, Potter felt like making someone else kneel through the Floo today.

He admits he’s too distracted by the stretch of the warm, red Weasley sweater across Potter’s back to bother paying attention to the conversation.

He zones back in briefly.

“-do you understand me? Draco Malfoy is my fiancé, and I won’t have you continuing to slander him every chance you get, or for once in my bloody life, I’ll use my connections as the “Chosen One,” Potter says, using air quotes, “And I’ll make sure the only reporting you’ll be able to do will be on the quality of cauldron bottoms-“

The person on the other end, whose face is now unfortunately obscured behind Potter, eventually acquiesces enough for the other to finally let them go.

He turns to Draco.

Draco beats him to it.

“Fiancé?”

It’s quite gratifying to see the look on Potter’s face.

oOo

He’s used to other people saving him, he supposes. Potter always manages to swan in with a half-formed plan and windswept hair.

It’s still mindboggling that, to Potter, he’s someone worth saving. Almost surreal.

Some days, he has to pinch himself to remember that he isn’t going to wake up back in the manor to a madman traipsing about his home.

Today’s one of those days.

Potter eventually comes back from the Ministry to see Draco lying there bonelessly in the living room. For all that they’ve bickered throughout the years, Potter is unusually silent. He slowly removes the Auror robes and drapes them on their hook.

Draco watches him toe off his boots and move towards him.

Potter slumps down next to him, tucking a socked foot under him, and sticks his hand out.

Draco looks at it for a second.

“You leaving me hanging, Malfoy?” Potter eventually laughs, wiggling his fingers at him.

He pretends to sigh long-sufferingly, but he takes Potter’s hand with only moderately concealed glee.

“Knut for your thoughts?” Potter says a while later after just sitting and holding hands. Draco slowly traces Potter’s warm hand, fingers brushing against the numerous calluses and nicks from a lifetime of Quidditch.

“My thoughts are obviously worth at least a galleon,” Draco replies haughtily.

“Sure, Malfoy,” Potter says. “One sickle, coming right up.”

Draco glares, but he squeezes Potter’s hand.

“Thank you,” he finally manages.

“I know it’s not true, and I honestly don’t know why it came out of my mouth-“ Potter starts.

“Just- let’s not talk about this now,” Draco interrupts quietly.

Potter mercifully falls silent, instead waving a hand and turning on the telly.

Draco falls asleep to the muted tones of their second favorite show.

oOo

He dreams about rings and Pansy proposing to Blaise.

He wakes up in a cold sweat.

Potter asks him if he had a funny dream when he wanders around in a daze that morning.

Draco waves him off. “I might be horrible on occasion, but even I wouldn’t subject someone to this.”

oOo

The whole fiancé thing more or less falls by the wayside.

Every so often, Draco can’t help it. He wonders what possessed Potter to say it.

Potter just gives him a withering look when he brings it up, but Draco is just calling it as he sees it. There was quite honestly no good reason to lie. So either Potter’s secretly fantasizing about being Mr. Potter-Malfoy, or- Draco honestly can’t think of another explanation.

But he keeps his mouth shut sometimes. Potter had been rather frustrated at the time after all.

oOo

Eventually, weeks go by with Potter fighting the media and becoming increasingly secretive. Draco doesn’t question it. There are times to be dramatic and bother answers out of the man, and there are times where it’s best to just leave him to his devices.

Even though Draco’s finally managed to convince himself that Potter might love him, not hating each other still feels quite new. Best not to push it.

oOo

At some point, Potter’s somehow squirreled away enough leave to make this a long weekend.

Draco knows they have plans to visit the eldest Weasel and his wife. One look at the thunderous expression on Potter’s face when he returns, and Draco quietly sends a polite owl to cancel.

Kreacher pops in, takes one look at Potter, and leaves just as quickly.

Draco eventually approaches Potter steadily, escorting him further into the home. He carefully tugs the Auror robes off and casts _Scourgify_ silently to tide them over until he has the chance to do laundry. There’s more pressing concerns at the moment.

Potter’s still facing away from him, clenching and unclenching a hand.

Kreacher returns just as Draco is reaching for him, leaving a tasteful selection of foods nearby, and disappearing shortly after Draco nods his thanks.

He can practically feel the tension emanating off of Potter’s shoulders. After hesitating for a moment, he reaches over and digs his thumbs into the muscles.

Potter squirms for a second, but quickly, he starts leaning into it as Draco continues to massage into his neck.

After several minutes, Draco pulls away, smiling slightly when Potter chases the feeling briefly.

He turns to sift through the tray of food, but Potter’s hand snatches at his sleeve.

The Auror is still facing away, but Draco doesn’t rush him, merely humming in acknowledgement.

There’s a long moment of silence.

“Malfoy,” Potter finally says in a low voice.

“Yes?”

“What did you…never mind,” he says abruptly.

Draco pulls his sleeve enough to turn him around and raises his eyebrow when they make eye contact.

“…do you think anyone can redeem themselves?” Potter asks hesitantly.

He pauses, and then shakes his head. “That’s not a fair question. I mean, you’ve done it.”

Draco shakes his head. “Yes, but Potter, I’m fabulous. Not everyone desires to be different.”

Potter’s silent again.

Draco’s starting to become suspicious. “What’s this about?”

He can tell Potter looks like he wants to pull away now, but instead he swallows and stays still.

“I fought a Death Eater today,” Potter confesses quickly. “I don’t even remember him from the war. He was ranting about being from some minor branch of the Lestranges maybe. But he was trying to assassinate Kingsley and I-“

“Potter.”

“-I just- it just happened. I tried to reason with him. He looked really nervous, but he just kept sending curses at us. I tried to aim as best I could, but it was really dark, and I just-“ Potter says, the words pouring out. “I hit him in the chest. And now he’s in a magically-induced coma. They say he’ll be fine, but he looks so young compared to some of the other Death Eaters. Who knows-“

“Potter, shut up.”

Remarkably, Potter’s mouth actually does click shut.

“Was there any other way?” Draco asks finally.

Potter mulishly doesn’t respond until Draco pokes him in the ribs.

“No,” he finally bites out. “But-“

“None of that,” Draco interrupts. “You told me once that we all do what we have to do, whether it was the war, the job, or in life. You did what you could, didn’t you?”

“Of course, but-“

“-then there you go, Potter.”

Potter’s looking away now as his jaw tightens. “Yeah.”

“Was there something else? This has happened loads of times, Potter. There’s plenty of kids who’ve gotten mixed up in this. I’m not saying you don’t have every right to be cut up about it, but it just doesn’t usually-“

“He looked a bit like you when-.”

“Ah.”

“Not actually,” Potter says tiredly, leaning against the wall behind him. “I wasn’t even picturing the bathroom.”

“Just…lighter hair, kind of ferret-like, a bit desperate,” Potter continues, and chuckles a bit weakly.

Draco mock glares at him briefly. “So clearly nothing like me.”

Potter sighs. “Maybe not. But everything moved so quickly, and it felt like I was standing under the Cloak again, watching you and Dumbledore- sorry.”

Draco tenses at the name, but forces himself to relax as he leans against the wall gingerly. “Listen, Potter, I’m not proud of what I’ve done, but it happened. No point dancing around the subject. He looked vaguely like me in a comparably horrible situation. And it made things harder.”

Potter stares at him. “Yeah.”

Draco waits calmly for a few more seconds until Potter crowds closer until their arms are touching. He doesn’t move, even when Potter finds his hand again and squeezes so hard, Draco’s certain it’ll bruise.

oOo

The next day, after Draco has painstakingly used his left hand to brew, there’s a small bottle of Dittany on the counter with a hastily scrawled note pinned to it.

Draco takes it, smirks at the messy “Sorry,” and finds a bowl to soothe his aching hand.

oOo

Draco can tell Potter is sucked into a new case soon after wrapping up the old.

There’s more secrecy than usual this time. He hasn’t been consulted, so he can only assume they’ve received word of further Death Eater activity after the attempted assasination. Even though the Ministry isn’t quite as suspicious of him as they’d once been, they’ve attempted to shield him from much of the goings-on of it. They say that Potter signed up for much of this excitement, but that unless he specifically asks for it, it’s not his job to take on cases that are not at least somewhat in his wheelhouse.

Malfoy begrudgingly appreciates it. Not.

Especially when Potter begins coming home increasingly late, quietly eating dinner and falling into bed without much in the way of conversation.

Draco is curious, but he isn’t a Gryffindor. He keeps his nose well out of it, trusting Potter to tell him when necessary.

oOo

So much for staying out of it, he thinks. He’d only lasted one day before being kidnapped rather close to the Ministry. They’d quickly Portkeyed to a rather deserted field.

“You couldn’t have picked a place with better weather?” he spits out.

There’s a painful smack to the side of his head.

“Less talking, Mr. Malfoy, if you please. You’re the hostage, of course, but we don’t really want to injure you.”

His heart’s pounding, and he can barely see someone racing towards him in the fog.

Of course it’s Potter. As if Draco could mistake that shaggy, black hair even before living with him.

He’s not going to make it though. He’s too far away.

“Your little boy toy won’t make it,” the oily voice behind him says, echoing his thoughts.

He wants to move towards Potter and almost takes a half-step in his direction before he’s pulled back by a ringed hand clenched in his hair.

“Now, now, Mr. Malfoy,” the voice says, hissing a laugh. “None of that. We’ve been over this.”

The wand digs into his back further.

“I told you before. We just want to send a message to your Head Auror over there. And then we’ll be off. Nothing happens to us, nothing happens to you,” he sneers. “Him, on the other hand, there’s not much hope for him. But you’ve never truly liked him, so you might as well drop the act. We all know you’ve been undercover this whole-“

Draco finally manages the wordless and wandless _Expelliarmus,_ and the wand shoots into his hand.

He mutters several spells in quick succession, and his assailant topples over Stunned, in a Full Body Bind, and neatly tied up in rope.

Stepping over the man, he thinks he might have overdone it a bit.

Someone crashes into him, hands fluttering everywhere.

He relaxes into Potter’s embrace, breathing hard.

There’s just enough time to dodge the loud _Crucio_ from behind him as he throws Potter aside. And without thinking, he uses _Sectumsempra._

He’s sprayed with a second assailant’s blood.

Potter’s scrambled back over to him, wand at the ready, eyes searching for any other attackers.

“-are…okay? Malfoy?” Draco hears him shouting. It almost sounds far away.

Potter is apparently satisfied there aren’t any more, and he’s back in front of Draco, searching for injuries amongst the blood. His movements become more frantic when Draco fails to respond.

Draco eventually bites out that he’s fine, but he’s secretly drinking in the sight of the other man.

Potter looks at one of the men on the ground, squinting hard at the curse used. He closes his eyes.

Draco’s stomach churns.

“I didn’t- Potter, I’m sorry. You used it on me, and I was in such a lousy place- I learned it so it could never be used on me again-“

“I love you,” Potter says, cutting him off.

Draco almost wants to laugh.

It’s very them. The first time Potter properly says it, and Draco’s covered in someone else’s blood.

“It was the only thing that came to mind to handle it,” he says, focusing on the rain flattening the other man’s hair and not on the slight roiling of his stomach.

Potter grimaces, knowing full well why it came to mind. He looks like he’s going to apologize again.

“Shut up, Potter,” Draco says and kisses him hard.

The rest of the Aurors are Apparating in. He can almost imagine their faces seeing their boss kissing his partner.

Draco doesn’t care.

oOo

Draco admits to being fleetingly tempted to dip Potter, simply because the moment is clearly not dramatic enough on its own.

He will deny that Potter immediately got wind of his plan and kicked him in the shin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update for this. Just kind of had a lot of ideas in my head. Hope you enjoy!

**Author's Note:**

> A silly little fic, but I had fun writing these two. I'm obviously and painfully not British, so hope this isn't too cringey. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> (If I ever wrote another chapter, it would be Harry having tea with the Slytherins. He also somehow ends up being friends with Pansy and doesn't know how to feel about that. Theo is a puzzle Hermione doesn't know how to solve, but she's itching to try. Ron finds Blaise hilarious, and they regularly start playing chess together. Everyone's making wagers about Seamus and Dean as to who's going to propose first. Ginny's been giving them both advice to try to win. Percy oddly seems to have inside info. Neville is thriving and everyone's wondering if he's still single. Luna is Luna. Meanwhile, Harry is trying to convince Malfoy to use his first name.)


End file.
